


Oh, The Sky Could Be Blue

by AliceinSpace



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Dancing, I just need these two to dance, Kisses, M/M, Post-Civil War, Pre-Serum, confession of love, sappy old music, the way you look tonight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 21:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14702691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceinSpace/pseuds/AliceinSpace
Summary: Bucky sings the words that will become their forever: “I love you... Just the way you look tonight.”It is off-key, there is no music, they have stopped swaying, but to Steve, it’s the most beautiful night and Bucky’s voice the most beautiful sound.





	Oh, The Sky Could Be Blue

The song comes on the radio that night.  Fred Astaire’s voice crackles as it comes through, bringing a smile to Steve’s mouth as he lays curled upon the couch.  A rough cough rudely interrupts the smile and pulls Bucky out of the kitchen.

“D’you need anything?”

The question is ignored.  “I like this song,” says Steve instead.

Bucky’s eyes move to the radio by the window, to Steve’s pale face, back again. He steps up to the side of the couch where Steve’s head rests and holds out his right hand, palm up.

“What?”  Confusion colors the sound of Steve’s voice.

“May I have this dance?”

Is that a blush on Bucky’s cheeks?

“What?” repeats Steve, pushing himself up into a sitting position.  He looks up at his best friend, hope and denial rattling about inside him.

“Dance with me, Stevie.”  He tacks on a please as an afterthought.

Steve places his hand in Bucky’s and allows himself to be gently pulled to his feet. His knees are weak, his body wobbly from the illness he is just conquering, but this presents no issue for Bucky, who’s firm arms lift Steve up and hold him steady.  They have done it so many times before and they do it again now.

The two of them – the dark, strong one and the small, frail one – sway slowly in time with the music.  Bucky cannot carry a tune in a pail, but he has perfect account of the beat, leading them into steps here and skips there.  He hums badly under his breath as he guides Steve in a careful spin, keeping tight hold of his hand.  When Steve turns back into Bucky’s arm, he turns too quickly and bumps into Bucky instead, sending himself to the floor in a flail of limbs.

A loud oof explodes as he hits the floorboards, and immediately Bucky is crouching before him, asking if he’s all right.

Laughter escapes Steve’s lips, breathy, quiet, but then Bucky is throwing back his head and releasing the most beautiful sound and Steve is breathless for reasons entirely apart from his bad lungs.

Bucky helps Steve to his feet again, but they do not reenter the dance.  They stand motionless for a long instant, sharing the same space and breathing the same air.

This is the moment Steve starts to think that maybe, perhaps, it could be that Bucky loves him back, even the tiniest bit.

Becausewhen the slow swell heralding the song’s imminent conclusion comes, Bucky leans down to rest his forehead on Steve’s and curls his arms tighter around his small, quaking form.  The room begins to spin, but it has nothing to do with illness and everything to do with that damned thing we call the heart.

His breath forms the words like fingers skating across fogged glass, following the lyrics of the song in a slow, steady voice.

“I love you... just the way you look... tonight...”

And his eyes search Steve’s, and Steve has never wanted to be searched and known before this moment.

Those dim blue eyes are so gentle.

Steve’s heartbeat thunders. Surely Bucky can hear it as it struggles to escape his chest, as it reaches out desperately for him. He must know.

As the music fades, Bucky’s hand leaves Steve’s waist.  His heart exhales sadly as he makes to leave the circle of Bucky’s warmth, regret and shame making a clump of something incapacitating in the pit of his stomach.

But as his eyes fall away, they are lifted up again, by a rough hand against his chin.

He looks up and meets those blue eyes, but they aren’t dim, aren’t muted now. They are afire with something Steve thinks he might recognize, something he sees reflected in the mirror as he shaves next to Bucky each morning, in the windowpanes as they watch the two of them lay across the couch, in the casual touches that make up a shared life.

Perhaps Bucky’s heart is doing the same flips.

Steve is frozen to the spot, living in the feel of Bucky’s arm around his waist, Bucky’s fingers under his chin.

Seeing something in Steve’s upturned face, Bucky’s mouth twitches into half a smile before he takes the tiny step necessary to press them together.

His lips come crashing down and Steve catches them carefully.

His gut is a mixture of butterflies and fireworks. Nothing has ever felt as sweet as this.

When their lips part, there is a thick strand of starlight between them.  Bucky’s eyes are hooded, guarded, waiting impatiently for the final blow.  He will be destroyed either way.

Steve doesn’t smile yet.  He studies his best friend’s face, tilting his own head a little. Slowly, his thin hands rise from Bucky’s arms to his face, where they cradle the most precious thing in the world.

_Then_ he smiles.

*** 

The bar is still rambling and rowdy, full of joyful drunkenness.  The Howling Commandos rejoice with the citizens of the small southern Polish town that overthrew its Hydra overlords only that morning.  Music swells through the open windows and doors of all the buildings along the main street.  The notes and laughter wash over the rubble and destruction, transforming it all into something beautiful under the bright January stars.

Steve trips over the threshold of the bar and nearly face-plants into the street.

Behind him, Bucky holds his sides as he laughs uproariously.

The sound sends Steve’s heart into a mighty fluttering.  He hasn’t heard such a lovely sound in months.  It might be the most carefree he has seen Bucky since he got the draft letter nearly a year ago.

They don’t talk as they lean back against the remains of a wall of sandbags, gazing at the stars.  It does both of them good to simply _be_. No mission, no weapons, no nightmares. Just the two of them.  As it’s always been.

The beginning notes of a sloppily played piano form a stumbling start to a song they both recognize.  Steve turns his face towards Bucky, who is already looking at him with a smile to rival the stars above.

Inside, Morita and Dernier sing high and badly in battling languages.

Outside, Steve offers his right hand, palm up.

Bucky’s eyes jump from Steve’s face to his hand, a moment of panic well-hidden behind that dim blue.

“It’s okay.”

The calm love in Steve’s voice is what moves Bucky’s hand from quivering at his side to the once tiny hand before him. Steve is careful as he pulls his friend from the wall and settles his hands, one clasped confidently around Bucky’s fingers, one a solid presence at Bucky’s waist.

They dance as they once did, eons ago, long before the beginning of this horrid new world in which they live.  They bounce in time to the beats in their memory, out of sync with the piano-banging issuing from the bar, but still beaming under the sky made up of smiling stars.  They have had a lot of practice dancing together.  If anyone had been watching other than those stars, it would have been undeniable: the smooth trust and flawless rocks from side to side as their arms swing up and down.  These two were made to dance together.  Even if one is still clumsy in his own way.  Steve turns Bucky into a perfectly-timed twirl, stretching his arm to keep hold of Bucky’s hand as they tap heels, toes, heels against the ground and shimmy back together again.  Bucky breathes a laugh into Steve’s face, smothering him in happiness.  He is so unbelievably happy to have this moment, to have a firm hold on Bucky, to have him back.

One more spin and Bucky turns quickly, expertly home, right into Steve’s clumsily waiting arms.  They collide in the best way, crashing and maintaining.  They are now the same height, and Steve can hold the eyes of his best friend without extra effort.

He is so distracted by the joy finally lighting those eyes that he misses a step and stumbles over his own feet, sending him to the ground and pulling Bucky down with him.

The shock barely wears off before Bucky is laughing again, standing again, pulling Steve to his feet again.  “Good to know some things will never change,” he says happily.

The comment distracts Steve from his joy, and doubt creeps into his heart.  He’s been worried about this from the instant Bucky recognized him in that camp in Italy: what if Bucky doesn’t love this version of him?

Bucky’s steps slow at the look on Steve’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Is this okay?”  Steve gestures to himself, then swallows.  “Am _I_ okay?  Everything’s so different and I…”

Bucky lays a hand on his chest. “You’re still the same stubborn punk I fell in love with, Stevie,” he says with a smile. “Even if you’re half a foot taller now.”

Bucky sings the words that will become their forever: “I love you... Just the way... you look... tonight...”

It is off-key, there is no music, they have stopped swaying, but to Steve, it’s the most beautiful night and Bucky’s voice the most beautiful sound.

He is the one to crash this time.

*** 

Shuri’s third test does not go well.  The Russian command words bring the Winter Soldier to life before their eyes and a syringe poised over his arm is jammed in.  The limp form of Bucky Barnes lays atop the table, strapped down for safety.

Steve stands beside the table, shaking with silent tears.

“We have to put him back under, Captain,” says Shuri gently, fingers brushing his elbow.

He nods.  “Yeah...”

She looks between the Captain and the Soldier, at the way soft blue eyes yearn silently.  “Do you want to spend a little while with him?” she offers.  “I can make sure no one comes into lab until he’s ready to go back to the tube.”  A small grin blossoms on her face.  “Sunsets are particularly beautiful in Wakanda.”

Steve turns surprised eyes on the small young woman.  “Thank you” is all he can think to say.

Shuri nods, escorts the last of the other scientists from the lab, and hits the harsh florescent lights on her way out.  Softer, more natural, almost candle-like lighting takes its place, and Steve drags a chair to the side of the table.  Before he sits, he loosens and releases the restraints holding Bucky’s arms, legs, and chest.  He flashes back to the last time he did this, when he had just found him, only to lose him soon after for seventy years.

Steve sits patiently, elbows on knees, watching the Wakandan world pass by beneath the science tower.

It is hours before Bucky begins to stir.

“Stevie…?” calls a newly-woken voice.

When Steve turns to look at his best friend, the Winter Soldier is long gone. Bucky’s soft blue eyes are back.  He looks around him and knows what happened.

“It didn’t work…”

"Not this time, no,” says Steve hastily.  “But it will.  I promise.”

Bucky chuckles mirthlessly.  “Now I know for a fact that your ma taught you better’n to make promises you can’t keep.” He gives Steve a small smile.

They have had this argument before.  It does not need to be repeated.  Instead of countering as he usually would, Steve fumbles with the pockets of his jeans.

“What’re you doing, punk?”

“I brought you something.  A surprise.”

“Ooh goody.”

Only Bucky could pull _that_ glare out of Captain America.  Bucky chuckles at him.  “What is it?”

Steve locates his phone and taps through it as he explains.  “Natasha helped me put music on it” – “on _that tiny thing_?” says Bucky incredulously – “and I got some from the albums we used to have at the apartment and a _ton_ that we could never afford.  And with this new music thing, I get to keep them for only $9.99 a month!”  He finds what he’s looking for.  “I made us a playlist.”  He turns the volume up all the way before rising, setting the phone on the nearest counter, and offering his right hand, palm up, to his best friend.  “Dance with me, Buck.”

Resigned and reserved, Bucky takes Steve’s hand and allows himself to be helped up.

Steve’s hands fall right back to where they belong, one entwined around Bucky’s, the other at Bucky’s waist.  He lays his cheek against Bucky’s as they sway.  They dance slowly, as careful with each other as they would be with cracking glass.  Under Steve’s hands, Bucky trembles until Steve pulls back, placing both hands on Bucky’s hips and bringing their foreheads together.

“What’s wrong?” asks Steve gently, his voice gliding under the music.

Bucky shakes his head, tears making his eyes glow in the burning light of the sunset cascading over Steve’s shoulders.  “Why are you here?  You should be out there.  You’ve gotten a second chance, why are you wasting it here on failed experiments? You have a chance at a new life.”

Unspoken between them is the undeniable double meaning in his words. He is the failed experiment and the attempts to undo all of that are just as useless.

Steve tilts his face to press a kiss to Bucky’s forehead.  “Buck… you _are_ my life.  You always were and you always will be.”

That’s when “The Way You Look Tonight” expands outwards from the phone’s little speaker to fill the room, to wrap them up in the familiarity of it.  That’s when Bucky starts to cry.

Steve wraps him in his arms and holds the quivering mess of a man tightly, squeezing all the love in his heart out and into his best friend.  “You were always the one to hold me up, to support and love me when I needed it. Please... it’s my turn now.”

“But I don’t have my arm!” cries Bucky wildly, sobbing. “I’ve got Hydra in my head and blood on my hands and nothing to give you.”

Steve takes his face in both hands, caressing it the way he did that first night.  He whispers the words into the space between their faces, each word heavy with feeling and sincerity.

“I love you... just the way... you look... tonight...”

And as Bucky’s breath steadies and a disbelieving smile begins to form, Steve kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> (Title from "Strawberry Swing" by Coldplay.)


End file.
